


It doesn't matter if the world don't know our names

by honeynutchelios (sebhar)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Artist AU, Corey Crawford is a Precious Teddy Bear, M/M, Patrick Sharp Is a Troll, Physical Disability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4093837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebhar/pseuds/honeynutchelios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaner is an artist whose work is so beautiful that the human mind is unable to cope with it. Except for Jonny. He doesn’t see what the fuss is about, and Kaner is fascinated.</p><p>EDIT August 2015: I'm going to finish this story. "My" Kaner is and always has been a fictional character. That said, it feels weird writing about Patrick Kane now. Still, writing helps me work through my feelings about what's going on, and you know how stories kind of get stuck in your mind until you get them out. So I'm going to finish this one. I have a couple others on the burner. I'll post those as well. Then I'm probably done writing about even fictional versions of Patrick Kane.</p><p>That said, I understand works about Patrick Kane can be triggering. I myself am a rape survivor, and am a trained sexual assault victim advocate. If you ever need to talk, I'm on tumblr as sebhar and always willing to help you process how you're feeling and/or hook you up with further resources. Thank you for reading, and for all your kind words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just another day until I saw you

Jonathan Toews is bored of the Chicago art scene. He’s bored of pseudointellectual bullshit and he’s bored of skinny men who grow ratty beards in desperate bids to seem more interesting. And no matter how Corey pleads, Jon is definitely not going to yet another gallery opening with him this evening.

“Jon--”

He doesn’t even look up from Mario Kart.

“Jon,” Corey repeats. Still nothing. 

“Jonathan.” Finally, a grunt comes from the couch. Progress! Encouraged, Corey throws a pillow at Jon’s head. “TAZER.”

“I said no, Crow.” 

“There will be booze!”

“No, Corey.”

“There will be girls!”

“Corey…”

“And boys!” Corey’s known for his quick recoveries. 

Falling off Rainbow Road for the umpteenth time, Jon looks his friend in the eye. Finally. “My leg hurts, Crow,” he intones, deeply serious. 

Corey can’t argue with that. Except he definitely can. “I’ll carry you,” and while there’s the barest hint of smile about his lips, his voice and eyes are serious. He really would, too. 

Jon knows it and feels like kind of an ass, but the scene is so DULL lately. He just sighs and stares straight ahead, mostly to avoid Corey’s ridiculous puppy dog eyes. 

“Please, Jonny? I’ve been hearing so much about this guy. Sharpy had him teach a session last semester, and you know how picky Sharpy is.”

Jon’s eyes flick toward the older man, then back to the track selection screen. “Yeah, I do.” For an entire semester, Corey had walked on eggshells around Jonny every day when he came home from Professor Sharp’s design class, fuming. Corey still swore he’d seen smoke actually come out of Jonny’s ears on at least one occasion. 

That had been freshman year, when Corey Crawford first met the brooding Jonathan Toews. The University insisted freshman rooming assignments were random, but the two Canadians found that assertion suspect. They were slow to become friends, despite their shared nationality and ability to speak French – Corey liked to think before he spoke, and Jonathan rarely spoke at all if he could help it. Theirs was a mostly silent, though not unfriendly, cohabitation. Then everything changed when they saw each other at hockey tryouts. 

Corey throws another pillow at Jon’s head, jolting him out of his nostalgic reverie. “Come with me. One last show. I’m buying dinner.” Jon’s sidelong glance draws an exaggerated sigh from the goalie. “AND I’ll do the dishes!” 

Jon smirks and slowly stands up. “Sold.” 

Crow’s face breaks into a huge grin. Jon laments, momentarily, as he allows himself to do now and then, that Corey’s only into women, then takes the cane Corey hands him and follows his best friend out the door.

***

Sharpy greets them enthusiastically just outside the gallery, looking ridiculously handsome in a sport coat and jeans that fit him unfairly well. Jon manages to make small talk for approximately 90 seconds before Crow and Sharpy go off on some tangent, the latter gesticulating animatedly and the former laughing, eyes sparkling. Jon’s under their radar, now, and slinks off to the bar. After a few indecisive moments, he orders a water – Corey would accuse him of being boring – and leans against the wall to survey the landscape. 

Hipsters. Hipsters everywhere. Jon appreciates a good flannel – he’s Canadian, after all – but there is way too much of it here. The art looks decent, though. This guy takes highly-stylized, high-definition portraits. They’re vibrant, even stunning, and they’re not what catches Jon’s eye. 

There’s a guy approaching him. Jon wasn’t sure at first. He’s taken a circuitous path, stopping to shake hands and exchange a word or two every so often, but he’s definitely making his way toward Jon. Or the bar, he supposes, but the fact that their eyes keep meeting makes Jon think this dude has something to say to him. 

And oh shit, he’s hot.

But hot isn’t the word. Or, rather, it’s one of the words. He’s more than hot. This guy has the weirdest haircut Jon’s ever seen (which is saying something, as Jon socializes almost exclusively with hockey players and artists). The golden hair curls back into what Jon can only call a mullet, but the guy transcends it to somehow still be super attractive. His cheeks have just a bit of color, and his lips – their shape, the way they pout just a little bit, make Jon wonder what he looks like when he comes. This makes Jon immediately, aggressively, think very hard (oh no, very hard, oh no) about anything else. Mario Kart. Yep. Waluigi. Boner: killed. 

Mysterious Hot Guy makes a long stop at Sharpy and Crow’s huddle. Corey catches Jon looking his way and motions for Jon to bring him a drink. Distracted, Jon grabs whatever the bartender hands him and carries it over. 

As Jon gets closer, he tries to be cool. Look at me, I’m Jonathan Toews, I’m nonchalantly bringing a drink over to the straight dude I live with, look how nonchalant I am. But it’s inevitable. The blond guy makes purposeful eye contact with Jon and smiles. There’s a slight gap between his front teeth and for some reason that’s ridiculously sexy. And Jon has never seen eyes like his. The words “limpid pools” come to mind and Jon shoves them out of his conscious mind so hard he’s pretty sure he’s erased both words from his vocabulary in English and French. The other man has gorgeous long eyelashes, too. Jon wants to make them flutter. 

The other man raises his eyebrows, and Jon realizes he’s been staring. So he just extends his hand. That’s cool, right? “Jonathan Toews.”

To Jon’s relief, the guy takes his hand and shakes it. “Patrick Kane.” 

And, wow, that was not what Jon was expecting. “The artist?”

“Uh, I think you mean the genius,” and, oh, right, Sharpy and Crow are also here. Jon does not appreciate the mischievous glint in his roommate’s eye. 

“Genius?” he blurts, sounding much ruder than he intended.

“That’s me! Welcome to my gallery!” Kane exclaims, arms outstretched in case it was not blatantly obvious that he was responsible for all the portraits in the room. “What do you think?”

“Uh,” Jon can’t think of anything particularly nice to say, so he opts to take a drink. Then inhales at the wrong time and coughs. 

“Easy, buddy,” says Sharpy as he claps Jon on the back. Jon’s eyes are watering but he can still tell Corey is trying not to laugh. Worst wingman in existence, honestly. 

Jon coughs a little to clear his throat. “So, Patrick Kane?”

“Kaner,” the shorter man chirps amiably. 

And this is awkward. This guy is jaw-droppingly beautiful, but Jon doesn’t think his art is anything special and the art is literally the only thing they have to talk about. Oh man, it’s so uncomfortable. Jon looks to Corey for help, and as soon as the big guy opens his mouth, Jonny relaxes. 

For a second. 

“Hey, Sharpy, we haven’t actually gotten a chance to look around much. Shall we?” 

“Yeah, I think we shall.” Sharp’s known Corey longer than Jonathan has known either of them. They have this weird nonverbal communication thing going on, like they’re just in sync. 

The look Jon shoots Crow is intended to say “Hey, assbag, do not leave me alone with him, I can’t deal with this,” but Corey just smirks as he and Sharpy walk away and Jon has to think fast.

Luckily, before Jon has to say something, Kaner does. “So what are you drinking?” 

Jon looks dumbly down at his cup. “Uh, water.”

Kaner’s face melts into a pout. “I’m single-handedly reviving the art of portraiture and you’re just… drinking water.” 

Crap, they’re talking about art. Anything but art. Different subject, Tazer. First thing that pops into your head. …okay, second thing; talking about how you want to kiss his lips until they’re red and swollen is not how you make friends. “Why, what are you drinking?”

“Whatever light beer they’ve got on tap. It’s nothing special, but it’s not bad.”

Which is kind of also what Jon thinks of Kaner’s art and that’s uncomfortable. “You’re a beer drinker?” Phew, relatively safe subject. 

“Took it up recently. I had an… incident with a cab driver, and since then I’ve been avoiding the hard stuff.” Kaner’s smiling, but his eyes – those eyes – have gone cold. Jon wants to bring the warmth back to them and whoa, where did that thought come from. “So, Jonathan Toews, what do you do?”

“Tazer,” Jon says without thinking. “Or Jon. Jon’s fine.” 

“Tazer’s a hell of a nickname,” and the smile is all the way back, taking up Kaner’s whole face and showing off that tooth gap. Jon wants to watch the sunrise with this guy. 

“Yeah, well, that happens in hockey,” and why did he just let his brain get ahead of his mouth?

“You play?”

“Used to,” Jon says softly, and aren’t artists supposed to be more observant? He’s using a cane.

“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” and Jon can tell he’s sincere. “I used to play when I was younger, too, but I’m…” he looks around, as if nervous someone might overhear, and motions Jon closer. Jon leans down and Kaner whispers conspiratorially in his ear. “I’m not very tall.” 

Jon can’t help but chuckle at that. He catches Corey looking at them across the room; Crow flashes Jonny a thumbs-up. Shit, had this been Crow’s plan all along? But he can’t think about that now, Kaner’s talking again. 

“If you don’t play hockey, why do you have a hockey nickname?” and that’s a fair question. 

“I work with the Blackhawks.” Jon monitors Kane’s face, looking for a reaction. He just seems… interested. “I’m in film, started working for them out of college. I make tapes, help out with TV spots, that kind of thing.” Then he laughs at his own job. “I make gifs, too. 

“That’s awesome!” and is Kaner this enthusiastic about everything? That must be exhausting. 

“What about you? Besides art I mean.”

“Just art, actually. I’ve been able to make a living off it since… well, shortly after I quit hockey, honestly.” And that actually is awesome. And impressive. 

“Shit, you really are a genius.”

“You better believe it. That’s all anyone’s told me since I was about five years old.”

“Five?” Jon could skate at that age, but he couldn’t draw for shit.

“Yeah,” and Kaner isn’t modest, but he isn’t bragging either. “A few years later, the Queen of England bought one of my pieces. Haven’t had a show since – my parents have been super supportive, helping me hone my craft and stuff. Making sure I don’t get burned out. But my Chicago opening has been in the works for over a year, and it’s highly anticipated by all the greats.” The tone of his voice is grandiose, a little sarcastic, like it’s what he’s read but not necessarily what he believes. “So tell me, Tazer – why do you hate my art?”

Jon chokes on a drink of water again, because he was thinking about highly anticipated openings and then Kaner says THAT. Kane’s going to think he has a problem. “What?”

“Okay, maybe you don’t hate it. But you’re not into it. Why?”

Kaner’s eyes give him x-ray powers, Jon’s pretty sure. They’re boring into him. “It’s not that your stuff is bad…”

“Oof!” Kane mimes getting shot in the gut.

“Come on, man, this is your gallery opening. Aren’t you supposed to be mingling?”

“I am!” 

“With, like, potential buyers and stuff?”

“I am,” and there’s a note in Kaner’s voice Jon hasn’t heard before. “I’m figuring out why you don’t like my work so I can make something you’ll buy. And I have an idea.”

It’s ridiculously cute that Kaner thinks someone in Jon’s position can afford original art by a guy who’s sold pieces to freaking royalty. “Oh yeah? What’s this idea, genius?” Gently ribbing Kaner just comes naturally. Their banter just… works. 

Kaner grins. That fucking tooth gap does Jonny in again. 

When Crow and Sharpy return a few minutes later, they are both grinning like complete assholes. Jon saw them high-five earlier, and he’s reasonably certain that Corey’s brought Sharpy in on his little scheme. Of course, now Jonny and Kaner have a scheme of their own. 

Sharpy and Crow gush about Kaner’s work and Kane’s pretty modest about it all, to his credit. Jon’s leg has had about all it can take, and he’s going to need to at least sit down – but with all the people, he really just wants to leave. He clears his throat and catches Corey’s eye. 

“I should probably get going, early practice tomorrow,” Corey says. “You need a ride home, Jonny?” He’s not sure how he got lucky enough to have the most clutch best friend, but Jon has rarely been more grateful for Corey’s cool ease. 

“Sounds great,” and with a round of handshakes and some final praise from Corey to Kaner, they take off.


	2. Cover Me In Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who knew the key to art was Corey Crawford? Just add water! …and, you know, grain, and whatever else goes into beer, but still.”

Patrick Kane knows a lot of artists, and artists tend to be intense. He’s also used to people tripping over themselves to praise him. Somehow, Jonathan Toews is the most intense person he’s ever met, and he doesn’t think Pat Kane is God’s gift to humanity. And to top it all off, his ass is the stuff of Greek sculpture. 

He watches Jon leave with Corey at his side. In some ways he’s glad they took off, because with Jon in the room all he wanted was to keep feeling him out, or, whoa, that sounds gross, but you know, getting to know him or whatever, instead of taking advantage of this excellent marketing opportunity (a phrase he can’t help but think in his dad’s voice). It’s a good thing Pat’s been coached on how to schmooze and say the right thing, because he can’t entirely focus – Jon’s lodged in the corner of his mind. 

“So what’s your next project?” The voice penetrates Pat’s reverie and oh, ugh, it’s that critic, the one with the head like a chode. What’s his name. Pierre. The guy has no concept of personal space. 

“I have something in the works,” Pat manages to say into the recording devices around him. “I can’t say much right now, but if it all works out I’m hoping to collaborate with one of the most interesting people on the scene.” And he leaves them to speculate by ducking into the men’s room. 

***

“Will you stop being a weirdo and just call him?” Corey chides around a mouthful of toaster pastry. 

Jon’s sitting at the table, an untouched bowl of cereal in front of him, turning Kaner’s business card over and over in his hand. It’s subtle, off-white, with raised letters spelling out a name and a website in stark black. Kaner’s signature, printed in bright red, somehow pulls the whole thing together. Then, on the flip side, is Kaner’s personal cell phone number, scrawled for Jon to “call anytime”. He’s not sure what to make of that. “I’m not being a weirdo. I just don’t want to call him until I have the details all worked out,” and that’s true. He still has to pitch the idea to the organization, and Jon really hates talking on the phone. Why call the guy more than necessary?

“You are definitely being weird. It’s been a week. Don’t you get tired?”

“Tired of what?” Front. Back. Front. Back. 

“Dude. You’re always, you know, laser-focused. But you’ve been up to eleven since you met Kaner. Your eyes keep doing that demonic intensity thing.”

Back. Front. Back. Front. Back.

“Jon.”

Front, back, front…

“Jonathan Bryan Toews if your creepy demon eyes burn holes in my table you’re buying me a new one.” 

Okay, he’s been weird. He’s been intense. But he’s fascinated by the idea of collaborating on something creative for the first time in a long time. What he doesn’t get is why a big name like Patrick Kane wants to work with him of all people. He sets the card down. 

“Tazer?” Corey’s voice is gentle. He’s got several pounds on Jonny, but he gets freaked out when Jon sets his jaw. 

“I’m going for a swim,” and without so much as cleaning up his cereal bowl, heads to his room to change. It’ll do him good. It’ll clear his head. And he’ll figure out exactly how to pitch Kaner’s idea to the Blackhawks. 

***

After his injury made most other forms of exercise too painful to do for very long, Jon took up swimming. All the benefits of time spent running or biking, but without the pain and the berating from his doctors. It leaves him tired, but it’s good cardio and clears his head.

Jon is not prepared when he gets home, hair still drying, to find Patrick Kane playing Mario Kart against Corey. In Jon’s living room. Shit. From the looks of things they’ve either been drinking quickly or for a while. He tries not to let his annoyance show on his face. 

“Jonny!” Why is Drunk Corey such a hugger? Jon’s never sure what to do with his arms when this happens. “Kaner came over! He wants to shoot me.” 

It takes Jon a beat, but upon further examination, no, none of that makes sense. “Uh, what?”

“Patrick fucking Kane wants to take my portrait!” Crow has this big dumb grin on his face. He’s not hammered, but he’s silly – very silly. Corey’s lucky he’s cute. And a great friend. And good at hockey. 

“I had to tell him! He wouldn’t leave me alone!” Kaner seems to think Jon’s angry, which he’s not. He’d planned to get home and go to bed, is all

“Don’t worry, his face always looks like that. Seriousness is, like, Jon’s superpower. We should do a portrait of him in a mask and a cape and call him Captain Serious.” Corey always knows just which buttons to push. Jon decides to ignore him. 

“What’s up, Kaner?”

“Corey called, offered beer and Mario Kart, and I couldn’t resist. And it’s good for me to study a subject before I shoot their portrait.” That grin is ridiculous and Jon tries to resist. 

“Tazer! Beer?” Corey calls over his shoulder as he heads to the kitchen. Jon hesitates – he doesn’t really want to drink around Kaner, he’d rather have his inhibitions intact – but then Crow chirps, “Maybe it’ll help your Mario Kart game not suck so much!”

“Fuck off!” Jon shouts back, and aggressively grabs a controller. 

*** 

It doesn’t take long for Jon to catch up, drink-wise, because they play Mario Kart drunk-driving style and he keeps getting distracted. He’s trying to keep cool for Kaner’s sake, but he’s getting pissy and overcompetitive and he knows Crow can tell. He suspects the big guy is losing on purpose, and is secretly both mad and grateful about it.

And Kaner is so, so distracting. He’s better at the game than Jon anticipated – probably something to do with hand-eye coordination due to being an art prodigy. Plus you’d think a guy his size wouldn’t have much alcohol tolerance, but he’s still surprisingly – and frustratingly – lucid. 

Finally, after Kane wins again (he does this stupid thing where he draws a heart in the air and then punches it, saying “BOOM! HEARTBREAKER!”), Corey sets his controller down and stands up. “I gotta take a leak,” he explains, then leaves Jon alone with Kaner. 

Jon flicks idly through the track selection menu as he watches Kaner out of the corner of his eye. Kane leans back, finishing his beer, and Jon isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol or the outline of Kaner’s neck that’s making him feel so warm. 

“So,” Kaner belches, which is gross and should not be cute, why does Jon think it’s cute? “Got any ideas for portraits? You know the team better than I do.” 

Jon takes a drink, buying time to think of a response that’s clever, but not too pretentious. In that moment, he realizes he doesn’t actually know what kind of thing Kaner’s going for. Fortunately, there’s a solution. “We should watch some footage so you get an idea of what the guys are about. And you should start coming to games.” He catches Kaner’s eye. The other man grins, and there’s that gap between his teeth, and Jon can’t deal with it. 

Fortunately, Corey walks back into the living room, and oh shit, he’s leaving again. “More beers?” 

Jon finishes his in hurried gulp as Kaner says, “Yeah, make it two.” 

Desperate to fill the seconds until Crow gets back and Jon doesn’t have to worry about saying something asinine, he ventures, “Your turn to pick next track, Kaner.” 

He’s giving Kane shit about each track he picks when there’s a “FUCK!” from the kitchen. They both whip around to see Corey standing in the doorway, bare-chested. “Exploding beer can,” he pouts, and Jon and Kaner exchange a look. 

***

Jon’s camera comes out and a few minutes later, Corey is whining, standing against a blank wall in just socks and boxers. “Come on, guys, I’m covered in beer.” 

“He needs something to do with his hands,” Kaner says thoughtfully. 

“Stick?” Jon offers. 

Kaner shakes his head. “Nah, too on the nose.” Jon hands him the camera without looking, and wordlessly heads to the living room closet. 

Working with Kaner is great. For all the Mario Kart strife, now they’ve got this rhythm. They don’t even have to talk, just sort of… go with it, and it works. It’s like Jon knows, instinctually, what Kaner’s going for. He feels rejuvenated; his leg hasn’t given him much trouble at all today, he’s a little buzzed, and for some reason this, taking pictures with Kaner, makes him feel alive. Rummaging through boxes of random stuff – lots of miscellaneous Blackhawks memorabilia and like, a weird amount of goalie gear Corey doesn’t use – Jon smiles, ever so slightly. He’s got just the thing. 

Triumphantly, Jon returns to the room, holding the squirt gun. Kaner sees it and whistles. “Yeah, okay, Corey, start with it at your side.” The shutter clicks. “Perfect. Now move it up – slowly! No, wait…” Kaner doesn’t stop looking through the camera, and Jon instinctively steps in to adjust the angle of Corey’s shoulders. “Yessss,” Kaner hisses, and Jon wants that to keep happening.

“I’m cold,” Corey protests.

“What if…” Kaner starts.

“Yeah,” Jon finishes, then guides Corey’s face with light touches.

“Exactly.” Jon steps back again, and Kaner’s going at it, shutter clicking.

“I’m sticky and I smell like a fucking bar and you owe me for this,” Corey grumbles, somehow not moving his facial muscles. He’s a great model. How did Jon not know that about him? Is it something Kaner brings out in his subjects?

Kaner puts the camera down, a satisfied look on his face. Jon wants to make that facial expression happen more often. Instead he just tosses Crow a shirt. “Hit the showers, Crawford,” he jokes. 

“We’re going out!” Patrick whoops. Corey rolls his eyes at both of them, but as he tromps down the hall to the bathroom Jon sees he’s smiling, too. 

***

“Who knew the key to art was Corey Crawford? Just add water! …and, you know, grain, and whatever else goes into beer, but still.” Kaner’s grin is huge and distracting and Jon feels a flush creep into his cheeks.

They’ve got a booth – Jon, Corey, Sharpy and Kaner – and a round of beers at the watering hole a few blocks from Jon and Corey’s place. Jon’s alone on one side of the booth; opposite him, Crow and Sharpy crowd around Kaner as he flips through the camera. 

They have some excellent shots of Corey with the squirt gun. It sounds ridiculous when Jon thinks of it that way, but it looks damn good. Jon’s proud of the work, but nervous about Sharpy’s reaction. He’s the expert, after all. 

“With some actual lighting and backdrops, you’re gonna blow minds, boys,” and Sharp’s grinning around another swig of his Labatt. Kaner probably gets that kind of praise all the time, but even a self-motivated guy like Jonny can’t help but appreciate that someone else sees value in his work.

Corey’s hair is still wet, and he’s looking better in a plain black t-shirt and nondescript jeans than most guys look on their best day. It’s seriously criminal that Corey’s single. Or maybe it’s criminal that their social circle includes so few straight women that he doesn’t have much opportunity. 

To many, Corey’s face would seem pretty expressionless. Jon, on the other hand, knows what he’s thinking. Hockey is a team sport. It’s about a group of guys working together toward one goal. Corey’s a modest guy. Kaner’s going on to Sharpy about lighting Crow in blue, putting his portrait at the front of the exhibit, and Corey’s eyes are doing that bug-out thing usually reserved for postgame questions about his individual performance. 

Jon’s watched enough footage of Corey on and off the ice, not to mention lived with him for a couple years. His confidence is quiet, more determination than anything; right now he’s not confident at all. Corey’s shifting in his seat, eyes wide, gaze not lingering on anything for very long. Jon nudges Corey’s foot with his own. They lock eyes, and Corey sighs, but his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

“Let’s show the team.” His statement makes Kaner grin, and even Jon can’t help but smile. He reaches over the table and punches Crow’s shoulder. “Do you have any friends you don’t bruise?”

“It’s how he shows affection,” Sharpy chuckles. 

Jon has a good buzz going, not just from the beer but from making good art, too. He doesn’t mean to, but he locks eyes with Kaner and—

“Move, Sharpy, I gotta take a leak.” Kane scoots out of the booth past the older man toward the men’s room, leaving the camera and his phone on the table. Sharpy sits back down next to Jon, ostensibly so he doesn’t have to stand up again when Kaner gets back, but Jon can’t help but feel a little disappointed Kaner won’t be sitting next to him. 

“So, Corey, let’s see what you got,” Sharpy grins.

Crow chokes a little on his beer. “Uh, what?”

“You’ve all seen my art, and we just looked at Jon and Patrick’s. What about yours?” Sharpy produces a pen and a napkin and soon they’re laughing at Corey’s extraordinarily bad doodle of a goalie. 

“It’s not THAT bad!” Corey insists, and Sharpy’s chirping him mercilessly. Corey defending himself against chirping is way better than Corey being awkward because he can’t handle praise. Jon’s making mental notes about portrait ideas for the other Blackhawks when he notices Kaner’s phone screen lighting up. He’s getting a call from someone named Jackie. The picture that pops up with her name is… uh, hot. Like, a lot hot. It goes to voicemail and Jon’s mind races. Of course a brilliant artist like Patrick Kane gets calls from hot girls. Probably no matter what time of night it is. 

The screen lights up again. Jackie again. Still hot. Fuck. Why did Jon think he stood a chance? 

He forces himself to finish his beer, look away from Kaner’s phone, and chirp Crow like everything’s fine. Because he has no business thinking Patrick Kane would be into him as anything more than an artist.

Just then, Kaner comes back, some fruity-looking drink in his hand, chewing on the straw. He plops down next to Corey. “I’m so glad you’re into it, man,” and they fist bump. Kaner looks to Jon next. “We get to work together!”

“Yeah. Cool.” Jon tries, he really tries, to sound excited, but he’s not good at faking enthusiasm. “Coworkers.” He’ll get through this. 

Kaner directs that stupid grin at him. Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Jon, just talk to Patrick about Jackie, ya big silly.
> 
> Again, muchas gracias to proshoetiers for beta services and constantly poking me to be a less lazy writer. 
> 
> The portraits are based on the real-life work of Robert Wilson. Inspiration for the Crawford portrait concept is here: http://www.dissidentusa.com/robert-wilson/subjects/brad-pitt/
> 
> Corey Crawford's art is real and worth putting into your brain for context: https://40.media.tumblr.com/4000b85d6929d1d79392e7f7deeb3a28/tumblr_nof2u7B2kY1s3b48so1_540.jpg
> 
> Also I forget whose tags on tumblr were something about it being impossible to be friends with Jon without bruises, so shoutout to that person and when I dig up that post again I will credit you.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "We Are In Love" by Cider Sky, because of this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dWItmBzuTgQ
> 
> Muchas gracias to proshoetiers for the prompt and for beta-ing.
> 
> Kaner's portraits of the Blackhawks are inspired by Robert Wilson's VOOM portraits: http://www.dissidentusa.com/robert-wilson/subjects/


End file.
